Quake
by Jalen Strix
Summary: There are always consequences for time spent in the Faerie realms, even (and perhaps especially) for the heroine of the tale. It's only a matter of time, as Jareth well knows.
1. Aftershock

**Chapter One: Aftershock**

* * *

Sarah lay prone on the floor of her kitchen, her head against the cool tile, gagging at the memory of what she had done. An effervescent chorus of her colleagues' well-meaning gabblings rippled through her thoughts.

_Of course they won't blame you for it, dear. They couldn't - it happened so fast._

_Honey, it would have required superhuman levels of concentration to stay calm and notice everything in time - of course you're not to blame. Can't blame yourself for being human._

_It doesn't matter that a few button presses would have saved them - how could you have known that?_

And from her ever-reasonable supervisor, _That was clearly a 3-sigma event on the fault tolerance scale - it was so far beyond what the system designers ever expected. We've never trained for anything like that, anything that happens so fast. It's not your fault, Sarah._

But that was, quite simply, a lie.

She had possessed the quick-thinking to deduce what could be done to save those people and act. But she had, in that icy, alien moment of decision, chosen _not_ to. She had chosen to let them fall to their deaths. Those innocent people, out on a vacation skyway tram ride, now dead. Very messily dead.

And she had watched their faces in that interminable infinity stretching out now in her mind's eye. She saw their horror of realization as she looked out at them, a mere 30 feet away - close enough to see but not close enough to reach. She remembered the agony of the parents as they clutched their children to them, faces pale with knowledge of sudden mortality, looking at her - she who had the power to save them, but who was plainly _not_ saving them for some unknowable reason.

She had watched them as the last cable strands broke with a harsh metallic twang and their plummet began.

And in that awful, incomprehensible moment, she had enjoyed it.

She gagged again, sobbing into the floor as the whispered words scraped out of her. "What the hell is happening to me?"

* * *

Time passed, and at last her mind was somewhat still.

She opened her eyes to see a pair of elegant black leather boots crossed comfortably in front of her. Jareth lounged against the wall of her kitchen, inexplicably regal even sitting on cold tile. His expression was curiously unreadable.

"You," she breathed raggedly, "What are you doing here?"

He arched an eyebrow, and took breath to speak.

She cut him off as horrifying suspicion flooded her mind. Her voice was quietly venomous. "Did you do this?"

The look he gave her was two parts exasperation, one part arrogance, and one part something unrecognizable. He exhaled evenly before speaking. "No, Sarah - as you have rightly thought all night, _you_ did this."

She closed her eyes briefly as that sordid flicker of hope sputtered out. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to see."

Self-loathing welled up, a hideous, raw agony pooling in her chest. He reached a gloved hand towards her, brushing the line of her cheek. She hissed at the contact, drawing back from him.

He withdrew his hand slowly, measuring her with his gaze. "You don't believe you deserve comfort at all?"

"I'm a monster. I deserve nothing." The words were quiet, aching truth.

A grimace twisted his features momentarily before he spoke. "I should tell you that when I said that you were the one that did this, that does not mean you were completely independent in your decision-making."

Her eyes riveted to him, terrible hope and rage rekindling. "What _precisely_ do you mean?"

"The Labyrinth has marked you as one of its own ever since you declared yourself my equal. You know this, of course?"

She nodded slowly, the burn of rage warming her chest, breaking through the murk of misery.

"The Labyrinth is a fae thing, and though it has a capricious temperament, it strictly adheres to its own rules. And one of those rules is balance, Sarah. Absolute balance."

Impatience flashed through her. "So?"

A half-smile flickered across his lips at her display of temper. "When your childish petulance and selfishness were stripped away after our first...delightful encounter, you were so much kinder in nature, so much more generous and giving of yourself." His voice slid through her, liquid and cool. "You were so genuinely _good_, Sarah. To put it simply, you were far too good. And you were that way for quite some time."

She stared at him, hideous realization cracking through her.

He nodded at her expression. "Absolute balance, Sarah. Had you but asked, I would have told you that an earthquake was coming. It was only a matter of time. And the longer it was delayed, the longer it went without any relief from the pressure...the more catastrophic it would be."

The words trickled out of her, simmering and slow. "You mean to say that I did...that thing...that _evil _thing...because the Labyrinth needed me to make up for how _good_ I've been since I left?"

He nodded again, his eyes holding hers.

The rage boiled within her, molten and viscous, even as her voice held deceptive calm. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "I am a fae thing too, Sarah - I have my own rules that I must abide by. You did not ask...until now. So I could not answer. Until now."

The rage erupted from her then, and she flew at him in violent fury, slashing and screaming wordlessly. He defended her flurry with deft ease, holding her wrists firmly as she burst into frenzied sobs, words flooding from her in a hoarse moan. "You knew this was coming, and you didn't tell me...goddamn you...you didn't tell me..."

Her rage-fueled strength spent itself at last, and she collapsed into him suddenly, hollow with grief. "Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.

He laid her wrists down gently and enfolded her in his arms, feeling the hot wetness of her renewed tears on his skin as he stroked her hair. His lilting voice held chords of bitter frustration and the whisper of sorrow. "Would that I could have, my love."

* * *

The beat of his heart was a soothing rhythm against her ear, a subtle promise of his presence. She opened her eyes slowly, feeling the weight of his arms around her and the warmth of his skin against her cheek. She didn't bother to protest his touch - they were clearly far past that now, so she let herself enjoy the simple pleasure of being held by him.

There was really only one thing that concerned her. "How do I stop it from happening again?"

His voice flowed smoothly around her as his thumb traced a slow circle on her shoulder. "The best thing I've found is to do small balances at fairly frequent intervals."

The simple implication billowed between them as she inhaled the wintry shadow-fey scent of him. "You know from personal experience, don't you?"

"I do."

She let that thought waft through her mind for a moment. "Does the Labyrinth do this to all its creatures?"

"Only those of sufficient status." He ran a leather-clad finger along her cheek. "Another perk of declaring yourself my equal."

She breathed slowly, gathering her calm, even as she savored the feel of the supple leather against her skin. "What has it done to you?"

"Well, for one," his voice drifted lazily around her, "haven't you ever wondered how the goblin king could fall in love with a teenage girl, just because she said so?"

She froze, and then sat up abruptly to look him in the eye, mortification and fascination flashing through her.

A wry smile glittered for a moment as he closed his eyes. "What, you thought you were so utterly captivating in your own right when you were fifteen? The Labyrinth is capricious, as I said. But that doesn't make its effects any less potent. And I had been rather detached and cold for quite some time." He opened his eyes then, holding her gaze in his. "Thus, my balancing. I have made sure to keep my natural inclination towards aloofness in check since then, particularly where you're concerned."

She blinked, as pieces snapped together in her mind. "So all those times you've appeared over the years, tempting me...?"

That wry smile flickered again. "For our mutual benefit."

She pressed her hands to her face, closing her eyes as she shook her head slowly. "Un-fucking-believable."

"Is it?" His hands gently pulled hers away from her eyes. "Did you really think there would be no lasting consequences from your little adventure? Surely you've read enough of Faerie to know better than that."

She let out a slow breath, pointedly ignoring how distracting it was to feel her hands held in his. "Of course, it's just - well, let me just state this explicitly to make sure I've got it all correct."

He inclined his head.

"One: By nature, you're a cold, heartless bastard."

A truly puckish smile sparked across his lips. "As you say."

"You go on being that way so long," she continued, ignoring the way her eyes were drawn to those terribly mobile lips, "that when the Labyrinth finally balances you, it ensorcells your regal, icy heart to a bratty fifteen-year-old mortal girl who's got a good adventurer complex."

The puckish smile burst into a full-blown grin. "Again, as you say. So eloquently, I might add."

She took a measured breath before continuing. "Two: So then I, in my infinite fifteen-year-old wisdom and in the course of my self-directed quest, declare myself your equal. Since you, in your besotted state, have oh-so-conveniently altered the Labyrinth to obey my will, the Labyrinth dutifully sits up and takes notice, as it were."

He nodded again, clearly enjoying her soliloquy. "As it were."

"I'm then entered into its official magical ledger of Things That Need To Be In Balance, and so it starts keeping track of me from that point on. And, post-adventure, I've lost my bratty side and gotten a hearty dose of adventure, so I'm just plain old _good_. And the good side of the ledger gets too tall, and boom! Evil act of sufficient vileness to balance out everything good I've ever done since I was fifteen. Is that about it?"

"That is, as you say, about it."

She stared at him for a moment, before continuing softly, "Then, I repeat: Un-fucking-believable. We have made an unbelievable mess."

"Have we?" He tilted his head in that distinctly avian fashion of his that was utterly arresting.

Her eyes slid along the planes and angles of his face before she could stop them. "Oh yes - you and me and the Labyrinth. And stop looking so damned amused about it." She jerked her eyes back up to his. "I mean, you're in love, by fiat, against your will, with me. I've just perpetrated something unspeakably evil and nearly had a psychotic break because of it. And the Labyrinth - ha! The Labyrinth has gotten its ridiculously powerful sovereign ruler tangled up with a mortal who's now walking the line of psychosis thanks to its interference, and we should all know how well that turns out for everyone concerned. But, well, at least the Labyrinth didn't break its precious rule about _balance." _She closed her eyes, shaking her head as she muttered, "Fucking Faerie."

Her eyes flew open as she felt the warmth of his breath along her knuckles. She watched his mouth hovering just above her skin as he spoke, tantalizingly close. "And at least we're never bored," he murmured before pressing his lips to the back of her hand.

It was intoxicating, the feel of his mouth against her hand. And then on her knuckles, sliding down to the sensitive flesh between her fingers. He looked at her with those crystalline eyes all the while, studying her reaction.

After a moment, she remembered to breathe. "What the hell are you doing?" She tried to pull her hand from his, but he held it in an iron grip quite at odds with the heated gentleness of what his mouth was doing.

She absolutely refused to admit that a part of her was thoroughly savoring that contrast. "I said, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

One eyebrow arched."Working within the parameters we've been given. Quite enjoyably, I might add."

Incredulity flared through her. "What, you get to be the attentive lover, and I get to be what - seduced? Which counts as wicked in the Labyrinth's little magical ledger? And the Labyrinth gets some imbalance purged from two important denizens, so it doesn't eventually force them to do additional things leading to their insanity and its ultimate unbalancing and demise?"

"Yes," he replied simply, as he kissed in between the flesh of her fingers again, trailing moist heat along the lines of the fingers to the knuckles.

She blinked at him. Well, it was a fair point, actually.

"How precisely," he said, in between thoroughly distracting actions with his teeth, "are you feeling at this moment?"

She paused. "Honestly?"

"We're in this together, after all," he replied, doing things with his tongue and breath that were sending shivers racing up her spine.

She considered, doing her best to engage rationally, even as he worked his way down her palm. "Flustered. Excited."

He was at her wrist now, with hot breath and the barest hint of teeth, and those glorious raptor eyes still watching her. "Slightly embarrassed," she continued. She swallowed, becoming significantly more aware of the feel of him curved against her, the heat of him against the underside of her thighs. Honesty...this thing required honesty.

"Particularly enjoying my current position in your lap," she said, tilting her chin up, willing the embarrassment to recede.

A decidedly wolfish smile played along his lips, as he continued his way slowly down the inside of her forearm, still watching her as his lips and teeth and breath and tongue did wonderfully disconcerting things to her skin. She held his gaze for a moment before saying softly, "Extraordinarily tempted to touch you. Feeling that that's rather wrong of me." She made a face and shook her head slightly. "You're the _goblin king_, for heaven's sake."

"Excellent," he breathed, drawing the hand he had been kissing to the side of his face. "Do it. Touch me. Wherever you want."

"I..." Coherency drifted away from her as she felt the line of his jaw, tracing from just below his ear to the corner of that thoroughly wicked mouth.

A sly smile touched his mouth for a heartbeat, curling beneath her finger. "Succumbing to temptation is quite assuredly wicked. Even if only slightly."

She nodded, rationality thoroughly assuaged, and let her hand drift back down along his neck, to that remarkably fine collarbone and shoulder, along the length of his arm until she reached the supple leather glove. With the ghost of a wicked thought, she began to slowly pull it off, keeping her eyes locked on his.

His eyes widened, but he made no move to stop her. His hand emerged from the confines of the leather, pale and exquisite and unspeakably enticing.

In a movement the mirror of his earlier one, she brought his naked hand to her lips and breathed gently along it, her mouth hovering just above the pale skin.

His eyes closed as he inhaled suddenly, his head tilting back slightly. "And how..."

"Mmm?" she encouraged, touching lips to the delicate bones of the hand and the knuckles and the long elegant lines of the fingers.

He breathed and tried again, even as she found a spot along his wrist that made him inhale sharply once more. At last, he managed in a fairly even tone, "How do you feel now?"

She considered again, applying breath and the hint of teeth to that vulnerable spot as she watched his reaction to her touch. "More than slightly wicked."

"Very good." It was a purring whisper. And then, with sudden predatory grace, he was on top of her, pressing the length of his body against hers, holding her wrists above her head with the ungloved hand as he breathed into her ear. "And now?"

It was a moment before she could speak. "Rather definitely wicked."

"Very, very good."

And there were no more words after that for a good long time.

* * *

They lay stretched out in her bed, illuminated by the early morning's light, legs entwined, her head cushioned comfortably in the crook of his neck. The wintry shadow-fey scent of him surrounded her, infused her. She luxuriated in it, and in him, for another moment before sitting up enough to look at him directly.

He looked back, one golden eyebrow raised in question.

"So," she began in a conversational tone, as her fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, "how often would you say these balancings need to occur?" She cast an eye at the minor wreckage of her bedroom - the overturned nightstand, the vanity's contents strewn on the floor after being swept off in delicious haste. The kitchen and den hadn't fared much better, if she recalled correctly. "Practically speaking," she continued, a wry half-smile growing even as she attempted to maintain a serious face, "I'm not entirely sure my apartment could take this kind of thing with any frequency."

"Mmm," he replied, as his fingers trailed along the curve of her waist, "the key is the overall balance, really. Regular minor wickedness is an excellent antidote for all those kindhearted activities you seem to enjoy so. Not to mention any guilt you refine over time."

She raised an eyebrow. "Refining guilt?"

"Let's just say I'm knowledgeable in this area. Imbalances are created different ways, and absolute balance is a delicate thing to maintain."

"Ah." Rationality was trickling back into her thoughts, whispering questions.

"Last night's...engagement," he flashed a thoroughly self-satisfied smile, "is a tad more excessive than is probably required on a regular basis, strictly speaking. It should hold us for a bit."

Her smiled mirrored his, rationality silenced for the moment. "Should?"

Mischief glinted in his eyes. "Well, one can never be sure. Capricious nature of Faerie realms, and so on. I believe your precise words were...oh, how did you so eloquently phrase it? 'Fucking Faerie'?"

"Ha! Quite literally, it seems."

His eyebrows lifted appreciatively as his sly smile surfaced again. "Indeed. Well, practically speaking, how many selfless, sweet, and generous things do you intend on doing in the near future? Let's start with that."

Her brow furrowed in mock consternation, as her hand drifted lower, fingers walking down the lines of his ribs. "I'm really so terribly nice these days."

His own fingers began a languid stroll along the taut line of her hip, meandering inward. "Hmm, too true. Regularity is definitely advisable, then." His voice was velvet-soft with intent. "Immediately."

Logic hauled her up short for a moment. "But if it's regular, would it feel so wicked?"

"That depends on how overdeveloped your sense of propriety is. We will simply," he said, his hand moving boldly with a deft rapidity that made her blush, "have to explore what feels wicked to you."

"Ah," she managed after a sudden inhalation, "and I imagine such an investigation would be thorough and ongoing."

A very genuine smile glittered back at her. "Of course. I do have my own balance to think of."

* * *

_Author's note 1: The inspiration for this came from a drabble by unrund in the labyfic livejournal community, with the idea that the most pure are the most susceptible to being twisted by the Labyrinth. The seeds of the rule of absolute balance came from there._

_Author's note 2: I originally thought of this as a oneshot, but a few reviewers have noted the unresolved feel of it, and upon reflection, I agreed wholeheartedly. As such, I've been working on follow-up chapters._


	2. Tremors

**Chapter Two: Tremors**

* * *

Sarah was feeling decidedly (and rather deliciously) wicked as she waltzed into work with Jareth's wintry scent still on her, a mantle of silky otherness drifting about her in unseen currents.

It dissolved abruptly as she walked by the control room at the mountain's base and had a clear view of the tram, now officially closed for maintenance. The control panel was the same as the one in the control room at the top of the mountain, and she stood transfixed, desperately trying to draw breath. A fine trembling began in her hands, stuttering through her chest and up into her throat, carrying a rolling nausea with it.

Her co-worker looked up, noticing her frozen in front of the door. "Sarah, are you alright?"

Sarah's eyes remained locked on the crucial buttons that would have saved those people. The world narrowed to a grainy, black tunnel, and memories fluttered of their plaintive eyes, eloquent in their desperation, watching her.

With a small gasp, she turned sharply away from the door, her breaths coming shallow and fast. She leaned her head forward into the cool shadow of the wall, hands clenched against her chest, trying to regain control of her body's reaction. _Breathe...just breathe..._

"Sarah," came her supervisor's voice gently from behind her, "why don't you help Summer lead the first hiking tour today? It'll be leaving in about half an hour."

Sarah nodded slowly against the wall, grateful for his compassion even as she inwardly cursed her own involuntary display of weakness.

"It'll be alright, Sarah," he continued softly, reassuringly. "It just takes time. You need to remember that it was a horrible accident. It wasn't your fault."

Her chest spasmed, her breath crushed by his well-intentioned words. _If only you knew, _she thought bleakly as she heard his footsteps recede. _I do not deserve your kindness._

* * *

Half an hour later, Sarah had pulled herself together enough to school her face into a friendly, cheerful mask. She looked at the group arriving for the tour, which involved exploring the forest at the foot of the mountain. She was surprised by how many people were there - they were either somehow blissfully unaware of the horrific accident of yesterday, or perhaps they were grimly choosing to continue their scheduled vacation plans, come hell or high water. Some of the parents did have that look about them. A true half-smile flitted across her lips for a moment - she had seen that expression on Karen's face any number of times.

Memories surged suddenly of other expressions, of other parents and other children, their features slack with fear, frozen in horrible realization and searing anguish. Sarah stumbled backwards, her vision tunneling again as her pulse darted and skipped, a sick emptiness rising in the back of her throat.

Summer took one look at her, and blithely announced something about the dangers of dehydration to the tour group as she hurried Sarah over to a quiet corner with a sports drink in hand. "Too soon, yeah?"

Sarah closed her eyes, trying to breathe evenly. "Yeah, I guess."

"Look, I can handle things here. Go talk to Dave - I'm sure he'll give you some time off, let you go early today maybe." She put a comforting hand on Sarah's arm. "You'll be okay." She flashed a good-humored smile. "Can't keep a good girl down, right?"

"Right," Sarah echoed softly, numbness settling like wings on her skin.

* * *

Her supervisor was more than accommodating, advising her to take her accumulated vacation time, effective immediately. And, of course, to go talk to someone about everything, someone who could help her work through "things".

She nodded mutely, grateful for his understanding.

He looked at her with such sympathetic encouragement that it took all of her will to walk calmly from the main office instead of letting the despicable truth hemorrhage out of her in wretched confession.

_Dangerous, _whispered the rational part of her mind, as she mulled over that precipitous moment later, lying on her bed in her apartment. _You do need help._

The tremors were still marching through her, insidious reminders of that fact, even as exhaustion stole over her and her eyes drifted closed.

She was immediately besieged. Accusation in so many eyes, the ululating screams echoing endlessly as they fell and fell and fell...and she was watching them, an indifferent statue observing from on high, impassively regarding the billowing dust that obscured the wreckage, closing over it like a shroud.

And again. This time she was with them as they plummeted, their wraithlike fingers reaching out to her, plucking at her wrists and hands and shoulders. Their eyes and voices were begging her for mercy, begging to the last as the ground swelled up to meet them and those plucking fingers were pulverized within the screeching metal, hidden by the spiraling dust.

And again. She watched through the eyes of one of the children, felt the uncomprehending disbelief as the dark-haired girl behind the control window gazed so coldly upon them, watching the cable snap, watching them as they fell, watching them as earth crunched bones and metal alike.

And again, now through the eyes of a different child, who felt the panic in her father's arms as the tram car began its plunge, and heard him chant over and over as the air whistled by them, _I love you, baby girl, I love you, _before the grisly cacophony overtook them all.

And again, through the eyes of the child's father, clutching his daughter against him, shining with hatred for the stone-hearted girl who had sentenced them to death, even as he poured out his unending love for his daughter, even to the last as metal and plastic compressed bones and flesh to a bloody pulp.

Sarah woke herself up screaming, heaving sobs ripping out of her, hands clenched so tight that the nails had broken the skin of her palms. The murmuring darkness still clung to her, dream whispers skittering with ghostly words.

She felt Jareth there more than saw him, his cool presence an island of blessed calm next to her. "Oh god, help me," she moaned, before burying her face in his chest, twisting her bloodied hands into his shirt, hot tears streaming uncontrollably. "Oh god, oh god...help me, please help me..." It was a rasping litany against his skin.

"I know," he murmured into her hair, stroking her back with feather-light fingers, "I will." As he cradled her against him, he began to softly croon a song without words, a winding, wandering melody that looped lazily around on itself in an endless cycle, changing keys on a whim, but always floating back to the same lilting core. _Forget, _it said in the spaces between the notes, thrumming through his chest and into her temples, _forget and sleep without dreams._

At last, she did.

* * *

Awareness filtered back slowly to Sarah, the rhythm of Jareth's heartbeat against her ear a gentle promise of his presence. _Again_, she thought with some chagrin, even as she savored the tranquility it wove around her. She blinked her eyes open and felt him wake beneath her, a relaxed stretch arching his body.

"We really must stop meeting like this," she murmured, mustering the dregs of humor. She traced a finger along the bloody streaks marring the fabric near her hands. "Also, sorry about your shirt."

She felt the elegant rise and fall of his shoulder, and then the melodious hum of his voice. "It's just a shirt. Though if you'd care to remove it for washing..."

She could positively hear his smile flashing, and it kindled an answering lightness in her. "I'm afraid I may need to clean myself up a bit first before anything of yours can get attention."

"Mmm." His hand slipped along hers and raised it up to the light, his thumb rubbing lightly across the wounds on the palm. She hissed at the sharp sting.

Memories of her nightmares erupted behind the pain, and her heart was suddenly a racing staccato, tension spiraling through every muscle.

His heartbeat quickened in response to hers, and he began to gently rub her fingers with his thumb, reviving the cocoon of calm around them both. "Perhaps a change of topic. Something to take your mind off things."

She paused at his words, halting the vaguely sarcastic dodge that hovered at the edge of her lips. He was, in fact, an ideal confidante - he already knew what she had done.

_And your boss wanted you to talk to someone about "things", after all, _her rational part noted cheekily.

She slid up to face him. "What if I don't want to take my mind off things?"

"I might call that an unwise course." There was a subtle weariness in his voice, a steely caution born of intimate knowledge.

"But how do I get through this? How do I recover from something like _this_?"

"Time," he replied with calm certainty. "Other focuses."

She snorted softly. "It's going to take a damned long time or some pretty monumental other focuses."

"True." Something ineffable flashed behind his eyes, something grounded by an unimaginable ferocity of will.

She regarded him for a moment. "You know from personal experience, don't you?"

"I know." His voice suddenly held chords of such vicious self-loathing and biting sorrow that it stopped her breath.

She didn't want to know just now what he had done to make his voice echo with those oh-so-familiar emotions. Not just now. It was enough that he really did know. She let the silence curl around them both in comfortable understanding.

At last, she sighed softly. "Fucking Faerie?"

A smile glimmered briefly in response. "Fucking Faerie," he agreed.

She nodded, raising a hand to trace along the phantom line of that smile. In the light, her hand looked rather grubby, and her brow furrowed at the contrast between it and the rather luminescently beautiful skin it was touching. It was at this point that she also became acutely aware of the remains of the sour sweat encrusting her skin, a pungent memento of her nightmares.

As her attention flicked inward, harsh, recriminatory half-whispers began to scuttle at the edges of her consciousness, an incipient whirlwind with the promise of violent upheaval. She shook her head abruptly, inhaling sharply as she lifted herself away from him. "I really need to get clean."

Silence drifted after her as she walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on. She peeled her clothes off and watched the steam rise for a moment before stepping in and shutting the door behind her.

The door clicked open again.

She turned sharply, startled, and watched him step into the stall with her. His pale skin almost seemed to glitter faintly in the dim light, his eyes flashing with intent. He had the smooth, lean musculature of a dancer (_a fighter, _whispered an appraising voice in her mind), and her eyes drifted quite of their own accord down to regard every aspect of him before she could get them under conscious control.

Self-satisfaction flickered briefly in his eyes, quirking the line of his lips as he watched her.

At last, she managed to form words. "What are you doing?" It came out as rather more breathy and hopeful than she anticipated.

"Helping." He picked up the bar of soap and her body sponge, and stepped closer to her, turning her around slowly by the shoulders as water cascaded down them both. He began to rub the lathered sponge along her back, and it was a slow and sensuous thing as he worked his way down, brushing along the backs of her knees each way, lingering ever so slightly against the length of her thighs, then up the sweep of her back again. He began to sway softly behind her, a silent rhythm in the falling water as he moved to the join of her shoulder and arm, and along the line of her neck, lifting her hair with one hand as the other worked.

By this time, she was swaying with him, a languorous movement to match his, as he worked down her arm to her wrist and palm and fingertips, and then back up again. His hands appeared in front of her, working deftly along her collarbone, then drifting down to gently scrape along her breasts and the line of her ribs as they moved together in slow synchrony. The feel of him pressing into her from behind as the water streamed down around them was maddening, subtle possession hidden in the cleansing smell of soap and unyielding preternatural strength.

He slowly raised her arms above her as they shifted together, undulating to their shared rhythm, the smoothness of his flesh sliding against hers. His hands captured hers and pushed them against the cool tile. It was a vulnerable position, but this thought was singularly unconcerning as he began to kiss along the line of her jaw. The feel of his mouth just behind her ear was rapturous, and kindled a slow burn inside her.

His first bite was gentle against the nape of her neck, followed by another, and another, tracking the line of her shoulder. His hands drifted down her wrists as his mouth meandered along the line of her shoulder blade, following the curve to the softness just beneath her breast.

A low sound of desire escaped her, and a sudden irreverence welled within her at the unrelenting intimacy of the situation. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. "You like to be around when I'm moaning, don't you?"

"There is moaning, and then there is _moaning,_" he whispered, their bodies dancing together sinuously beneath the rivulets of water, fitting together in the graceful harmony of flesh against flesh. "I intend to inspire the latter."

"Duly noted," she breathed, before letting herself be swept away in the intoxication of him, his soft laughter caressing her skin.

* * *

It became something of a cycle for Sarah, a strange mobius strip looping seamlessly from horror to unspeakable pleasure, from sleep to waking, threaded by the sublime oblivion of Jareth's wordless melody.

_Hold onto me, _everything about him said._ I will help you through this. But you must hold on._

And of course, she was entirely inclined to do so, though she was aware of the consequences. Logically, she knew what was happening - it was absurdly simple, really. The better he made her feel, the more her guilt festered when she fell unconscious, her mind conjuring atrocities for her convenient perusal.

_You have committed a monstrous thing, _it whispered insidiously._ Never forget that you do not deserve to feel good._

But there was a way to forget, even if only for small stretches of time. His touch and his voice were very effective, even if they triggered the cycle all over again by their very effectiveness.

_Addictive, _observed her rational part. _Dangerous._

She was, however, distinctly ceasing to care. After the fourth time waking up screaming, she cared only for immediate relief - which he was quite willing to provide.

The wintry scent of him became intertwined with the wordless melody, both etched in her mind, promising comfort and unadulterated release. She began to know the opening notes and rhythms, especially easy to recall when his scent was curling around her.

The next time the dream aftershocks raked through her, she hummed underneath his voice, dry harmonizing notes slipping out between the sobs and shivers.

His breath caught for a moment before he continued, the lilting comfort of the melody swelling, doubling and redoubling as the harmonies were woven. It brought sweet calm swifter than ever before, notably without unconsciousness.

She looked up at him afterwards, and saw a peculiar expression. "What is it?"

His smile burst like sunshine over snow. "You learn very quickly."

She realized suddenly that he was proud of her, and she was terribly pleased by this, though she only let a wry half-smile show. "Necessity. And a good teacher."

"Indeed. I think this is a much better result. Come," he said, sitting up straighter and facing her, "let's try it again and see how much further we can develop it."

"I'm definitely feeling results-oriented," she replied dryly. "Let's do it."

His amusement flowed between them, warm and sparkling. "Always good to have the appropriate level of enthusiasm."

The half-smile slid across her lips again. "Talent will only get you so far."

"How far _will_ it get you?" Unmistakable intention was suddenly smoldering beneath his words.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are we singing or are we doing foreplay?"

Laughter glowed in his voice. "I'm multi-talented. So are you."

"You're so sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

Her own smile bloomed to a full-fledged grin, his levity bubbling through her. "Come on, o multi-talented one, let's sing this thing."

His expression was decidedly wicked as he began the melody, and her eyes began to rove hungrily over the lines and contours of his face as she recollected quite clearly the way they felt beneath her teeth. With an effort of will, she closed her eyes to concentrate better.

_Such a pity_, sighed her aesthetic sense.

_It's a good move_, snorted her rational part. _This is important._

_Hello, multi-tasking?_ sniffed her aesthetic sense.

_Largely a myth_, sniped her rational part.

As her mind calmed, she heard an entry point in the melody - a simple descant a third above his vibrant baritone that she let ring forth in a delicate mezzo piano. As the melody looped and switched keys, her harmony evolved in its complexity, picking out extended chords, slipping between major and minor tonalities, mixing rhythms. She began to see the harmonics drawing out different emotions and intentions, accentuating some while masking others. Her mind cast them as colors: the purple-green of tranquility, the black-gray of despair, the red-purple of desire, the gray-blue of forgetfulness...

When their melody cycled down at last, she opened her eyes and saw satisfied pride reflected in his. "Well done."

She inclined her head, her smile brilliant. The duet had brought her such unexpected joy, and she wrapped the memory of it around her like a silvery cloak against the darkness.

_You'll pay for feeling this good_, warned her rational part.

_Bring it_, she sneered back, even as she felt the maw of anguish and remorse pushing against her, deepening like a rotten fissure.

_At least balance is being maintained, _continued her rational part with irritating cheerfulness.

_There is that, _she thought with resignation.

She saw then that he was watching her, as if he knew the mental conversations that were branching in her mind. _Hell, maybe he does._

He reached a hand out to trace the smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes. "We'll see how this does for awhile."

* * *

And it was better than it had been. But the interrupted sleep continued, stubborn bouts of insomnia that her conscious mind imposed in mounted defense to the nightmares. It was still never more than an hour or two of unconsciousness before they began, conjuring abject recrimination and despair.

"Fucking Faerie," she muttered wholeheartedly time and again as the bitter tears flowed against his chest and she bloodied his skin with her palms.

One twilight she woke up to a searing pain on her knuckles, the iron salt of blood on her lips a remnant of gnawing through her own skin. She simply stared numbly at her battered hands, unable to raise her eyes to his, unable to even turn towards him.

Her passivity spurred something in him. He raised one of her hands with exquisite gentleness, holding it so close to his lips that she felt the moist heat play across the broken skin. He then began, quite slowly and deliberately, to lick the wounds. The shock of his tongue on the skin, lapping the blood away with feline grace, caused her eyes to jolt upwards and catch his. He held her gaze as he continued his unhurried cleansing, satisfied that she had been startled to alertness.

She began to hum the calming melody as she watched him, and she saw approval shimmer in his eyes. He finished with the hand he had, and laid it slowly back down before picking the other one up, his eyes never leaving hers. It was distinctly inhuman, that glint as he licked the blood from knuckles and palm, a secret dark pleasure whistling through him and into her.

_There are always upsides_, observed her rational part.

_Damn right,_ chorused her sensual side. _Might as well enjoy it while you can._

With a mental shrug, she laid her head against his shoulder as she hummed, breathing in his wintry scent while he finished with her other hand. As the familiar tranquility seeped into her mind, she noted that the wounds didn't seem to sting anymore. _Interesting._

Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke. "So...you have magical healing saliva?"

Her remark surprised a soft laugh from him. "Something like that. It seems you're feeling more like yourself?"

She nodded, her breathing even and relaxed. "Yeah. Seriously though - magical saliva?"

The laughter rippled through him again. "The Labyrinth's magic integrates into the body in various ways. A benefit of extended exposure."

The unspoken implication drifted between them. "So not _just_ magical saliva?"

Amusement danced lightly in his voice. "Not just."

"Damn, I knew our little escapades made me feel good, but...well, that explains a lot."

"I would say there's some role for pure skill as well."

She nipped at his shoulder, smiling. "True, and I'm sure it's an official rule somewhere that faerie lovers are magnificent at what they do. But having mystical restorative body fluids is a serious headstart. None of the stories ever mention that part."

His finger traced the edge of her smile, lingering at the corner. "Can't give away all my secrets at once, you know. And it only seems wise to use all the tools at my disposal."

"And right fine tools they are, too." She paused, her voice muzzing softly with fatigue. "Am I being changed by extended contact with you?"

His voice was a velvet caress. "What is it you really want to know?"

She raised a finger to his lips, following the line of his mouth. "Well, do I get magical healing saliva, too?"

He gave her finger a quick bite, followed by a soft brush of lips. "You might need a bit more time for that."

"You mean a bit more contact, don't you?" Her finger slid along the silky heat of his mouth.

His tongue flicked along her fingertip. "Perhaps I do."

She nuzzled against his shoulder, savoring the sensations along her finger as her eyes fluttered closed. "Fortunately, I'm perfectly willing to experiment."

"Much to my continuing delight." He was nibbling along the length of her hand now, tongue and teeth sampling the crevices and folds in a thoroughly distracting manner.

"Jareth?"

"Mmm?" He was at her palm now, tracing the lines with luxurious precision.

"I love you." The words floated between them, a whisper of secrets. "I'm not sorry the Labyrinth made you love me first."

She felt his exhalation of breath as a burst against her palm, as if it had been held a moment too long. He kissed the center of her palm with a slow reverence. "You do have excellent taste."

She laughed into his shoulder, the solemnity of the moment utterly shattered. "Double entendre much?"

"With you, whenever I can."

* * *

She became used to him licking the blood of her hands away when she awakened, as she reflexively began the notes of the melody. When she began biting through the flesh of her lips in her sleep, it didn't seem unnatural at all to be roused to consciousness with him kissing her bloodied mouth.

The increasing familiarity of these inhuman gestures bothered her in a vague way, but fatigue was clawing at her, a swirling empty weakness in her limbs and a persistent fuzziness of her mind. She had lost track of the time that had passed, exactly how many gray mornings and afternoons and dusks had blended into nights. Some, but not very many.

He startled her out of her ruminations one afternoon as he traced a finger lazily along the naked line of her hip. "You realize part of your body's weakness is because you haven't eaten anything in far too long."

She blinked, trying to remember. He had a point. She'd been so focused on getting her subconscious under control that everything else had faded from attention. "Woman cannot live by magic-infused body fluids alone, I take it?"

"Alas, no."

"But Goblin Kings get special dispensation? When's the last time you ate something, anyway?"

His eyes flashed with unholy mirth.

"That absolutely does _not_ count. The last time you ate any food, tricksy man." She eyed his expression, which had acquired a distinctive closed-off quality she was coming to recognize. "Okay... the last time you ate any human food." That peculiar shiftiness only intensified. She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, the last time you ate anything that _I_ would call food. And we're going to have a little chat later about whether you have anything in common with incubi that you want to tell me about."

His expression was a gloriously puckish thing. "Let's just say I've been taking care of my body's demands better than you've been taking care of yours."

A rueful smile played across her lips. "I see. Well, I think you should get some of the blame here for being so utterly distracting. Especially if you can exist by distraction alone while I, poor girl that I am, need actual food."

"Perhaps we should focus on getting you that actual food and worry about blame later. What would you like?"

"Good question." She closed her eyes, letting imaginary tastes and textures run across her tongue, summoning memories to determine what her body wanted. Salty perhaps. _Like the tang of his skin when they move against each other._ Ah, no. Something savory, with juices running? _Like the blood on both their lips when he kisses her to consciousness._ No. Spicy, piquant. _Like the taste of his mouth, hot against hers._

She inhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Okay, so what if I don't want food exactly?"

His eyes glinted with subtle knowledge, even as that puckish expression persisted. "I'm afraid it's a necessity at the moment. But perhaps hungers can be made to work in tandem."

"Do tell."

"I propose a game of it. I will blindfold you, whisk you hither and thither and yon, and ply you with whatever morsels I choose. You must guess what they are by taste alone. And it will never be more than a taste."

She looked at him, considering. "Into power games, are we?"

He arched an eyebrow. "I _am_ a king, after all."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Point. So what do I get when I'm right?"

"Unearthly delights, provided by me." His smile grew feral with unspoken promise.

She tilted her head to the side in an avian gesture she had picked up from him. "I think I've already experienced those. What else have you got?"

His eyes flashed, predatory beneath lowered lashes. "My dear love, I have so much more to show you."

A quivering anticipation pulsed through her. "And what about when I'm wrong?"

A thoroughly outrageous smile appeared. "Unearthly delights, provided by you."

"Ah, and I'm assuming you'll be teaching me those?"

"You do learn so quickly."

She looked at him silently for a moment. "Have I mentioned that I adore you?"

Something in his expression softened, a glow of muted surprise at her candor. "Perhaps not in those exact words."

"Well, clearly I should have. Consider it mentioned." She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips, then on the sensitive space at the bridge of his nose and along the ridge of each golden eyebrow.

A nascent hope, like downy under-feathers, unfurled beneath the longing and possession in his eyes as he looked at her. "Come, shall we begin?"

_"_Let's."

* * *

They were lying together one endless, blurring evening, comfortably curled into each other, her back pressed against his chest in now-familiar connection, her bare feet mingling with his.

He traced a light circle on her forehead, which was furrowed in thought. "What is it?"

She smiled at the affection in his gesture and threaded the fingers of her hand through his, pulling it against her chest. "Not that I don't love you being here with me, but don't you have a kingdom to run?"

"Ah, that. I'm on a sanctioned leave of absence, actually." His words caressed the back of her neck with a soft lingering touch of lips. "Rather like you."

"Ah, very handy - though I didn't know kings could get those. Who granted it? You? The Labyrinth?"

"For matters of significant importance to the realm, allowances can be made."

"I'm that important? My ego duly thanks you." She paused, sliding her fingers along his in unhurried rhythm. "So why am I so very important? I mean, to the realm proper?"

He was silent for a long moment, his breathing in time with the slow, deliberate motions of her fingers. "I've been an anchor for the Labyrinth for a very long time. You are very important to me."

"So you're basically taking royal prerogative to be with me right now, the Labyrinth be damned?"

"Something like that." A certain recognizable slyness tinged his voice.

"I see. So there's something you're not telling me."

His measured exhalation was a breeze against her neck. "Would I do that?"

"In a fraggin' heartbeat and without a moment's remorse if you thought it was best."

He laughed quietly into her shoulder. "You do seem to know me so well these days."

She took a breath, considering the possibilities. "Alright, let's get this sorted out now. Would I be happier not knowing that thing you're not telling me?"

"So direct. I really enjoy that about our interactions."

She elbowed him gently. "Then cease your artful dodging if you wish to continue them. Well? Would I be happier not knowing?"

There was a long pause. "I think so."

"Would I be safer?"

"Undoubtedly."

"I probably shouldn't trust you when you say that with such certainty."

"Maybe not."

She contemplated this for a few moments, trying to discern the shape of what mattered. "Alright, how about this: Would it hurt you in some way to tell me this thing?"

He contemplated that in turn for some time before replying softly. "Yes." The open admission was clearly distasteful.

She tapped her fingers against his. "You know it's alright not to be impervious to everything, right?"

A rueful note colored his voice. "Magical faerie rulers can't afford such luxury. Or didn't you know?"

"Sounds like a lot of pressure for a magical faerie ruler."

"True enough."

"Besides, isn't being impervious to everything what got you into this particular bind with me?"

She felt him tense beneath her, a ripple of alarm cresting as he anticipated her demand. "It is."

She slid her foot gently against his, letting the rhythmic press of skin against skin focus her. Something about the whole sequence of events between them was deeply, painfully important. And full disclosure could be harmful to him.

_Keyword 'could',_ sniffed her rational part._ Is it worth the risk?_ _Is _**_he_**_ worth the risk?_

_Hell, yes, _chimed her romantic, aesthetic, and sensual sides all together.

Her rational part sulked briefly before reluctantly adding, _He's been crucial so far in getting through this._

With a deliberate exhalation, she turned to face him. "Okay, I don't want you to tell me."

He blinked at her, clearly unprepared for this response.

"Really. I'll trust you on this. For now."

His hand squeezed hers as he kissed the space between her eyes, his relief whispering coolly through them both. "So generous."

A puckish grin twinkled back at him. "Had a remarkably fine teacher for that actually. Met him when I was fifteen, and he drove me batshit crazy at the time. Really great example of generosity, that one."

This surprised a rolling burst of laughter from him. "Was he now? And wherever has he been since?"

She rubbed at her eyes, which had begun to burn in familiar fatigue. "Haven't the foggiest till fairly recently. Off doing tricksy royal things, I bet. But then, he does fairly tricksy things now that he's back, too." She yawned. "Excellent voice, though. Definitely worth all the fuss."

His teeth grazed her ear. "I'm delighted my efforts meet with your approval."

"Do keep up the good work." The mischievous glee in her eyes slipped to pain as a throb started behind her right eye, a nasty byproduct of unrelenting wakefulness.

He moved his hand to her temple, one cool finger pressed gently into the pulse point. "What are we to do with you? You need sleep."

She glanced at the bookshelf next to them thoughtfully.

He followed her line of sight. "What is it?"

An uncertain hopefulness tinged her voice as she asked, "Maybe you could read to me a little?" She felt his incisive curiosity prickling at her skin, and blushed, closing her eyes. "My parents used to read to me when I was little, mostly when I was sick. It helped me get to sleep."

The intimacy of the request seemed to please him."I could read to you." His fingers rubbed gently at her temples, their cool touch bringing a sweet relief so intense it was nearly erotic. "Though only if you promise to read to me too."

She smiled up at him, her eyes still closed. "Deal. You first."

"So pacted." The words lingered in the air, their subtle tones ringing.

She opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Faerie promises, huh?"

"You know the stories about Faerie."

"That I do. I guess we better get this reading show on the road, then. Who knows what the consequences could be otherwise?"

Mock-solemnity flashed across his face. "Best not to find out."

"Agreed. Since you promised to read first, you get to choose the book."

"Did I promise?"

She blinked at him, reviewing the exact words of their recent conversation, and then rolled her eyes. "Right, 'could' is not, in fact, the same as 'promise'."

"Alas."

"So what, I'm obligated to read to you, but you can merely choose to read to me?"

His shrug was an elegant economy of movement. "Isn't something done out of free will a greater gift than something done out of obligation?"

"So now I'm obligated to read to you _and_ it's not as good as you reading to me precisely because I'm obligated? Damn, I am so out-classed in this whole word manipulation thing."

"You'll learn."

"By devastating example, no doubt."

A thoroughly self-satisfied smile slid across his lips. "No doubt."

She whapped him lightly on the shoulder before leaning up for a brief kiss. "So, ye of the devastating example, I still say you pick the book."

"That I could do." He turned to survey the bookshelf. After a moment, he pulled out a rather battered-looking paperback. "Perhaps this one? Promising title - _The Princess Bride_."

Her eyes glowed with pleasure. "It's excellent. A grand adventure - heroes, villains, true love, the works. Also, it's ridiculously funny."

His eyes flickered with satisfaction. "Sounds just right. Shall we begin?"

She arranged her head in his lap and closed her eyes as he flipped to the appropriate page. "I love you."

His lips brushed her forehead. "And I you. _Chapter One: The Bride._"


End file.
